


What You Deserve

by KnittingNarwhal



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, As if he wasn't tortured enough, Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, Demons, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Happy Ending, Horror, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mages, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Poor Cullen Rutherford, Prisoner Cullen, Psychological Torture, Rape, Red Templars, Rough Kissing, Templar - Freeform, Torture, Weapons, Weapons Kink, why am i a horrible person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13933227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnittingNarwhal/pseuds/KnittingNarwhal
Summary: Solitary and relentless, the first sensation was pain.Cold and echoing, the second sensation was fear.Deep and desperate, the third sensation was self-preservation.Cullen is in trouble.





	1. Surfacing

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I'm KnittingNarwhal and I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON. 
> 
> You see, I love Cullen...very, very much. I want him to be happy. He truly deserves it. 
> 
> But, I also want to torture the hell out of him. So. Yeah. I'm sure there's some form of therapy out there for me somewhere ;) 
> 
> Be sure to check the tags to make sure this is something you are OK with reading. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Solitary and relentless, the first sensation was pain.

His eyes fluttered open as he drew in a shallow breath, choking on the fire-hot stabbing that tore into his abdomen. His skull threatened to shatter. Again, he drew in air Quick and shallow. Every breath was agonizing.

  
Cold and echoing, the second sensation was fear.

Panic struck his heart, forcing it to pound violently within his chest, carrying hysteria to every inch of his body and every corner of his mind. This was wrong. He wasn’t safe. Where was he? What happened?

  
Deep and desperate, the third sensation was self-preservation.

He had to get out. His legs twitched, ready to run. Couldn’t move.  
His arms wanted to grasp at the air, find a weapon. Frozen.

  
Then….dread.

 

“Finally! You’re awake. I was beginning to worry about you, Cullen.” A muffled voice slowly broke through the haze. It was low and eerily sanguine. Familiar.

  
Cullen groaned, coughed, blinked furiously at the grey and hazy world in front of him. The view threatened to close up, bringing Cullen to a dark and narrow tunnel. The darkness was inviting, yet he fought against it. He breathed through the pain and tore through the darkness. 

The stone room he found himself was cold. Damp. Candlelight flickered. Shadows danced on the walls. Within one of the shadows stood a figure.

Thoughts and memories tapped against the wall of Cullen's confusion. Determined, but lacking strength. Not quite within reach. The more Cullen tried to focus and remember, the more he disturbed the waters within his mind and scattered the thoughts about. Seeking orientation only disoriented.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” the voice from the obscurity said with a gentleness that held on to Cullen.

A memory slipped through the wall. The time Cullen nearly drowned in the lake. He had been flailing, frantic, sabotaging his own survival. He only knew how to fight against the danger he was in, not the danger he caused. But he'd survived the lake.He mirrored the memory - after fighting _in_ panic, Cullen _fought off_ the panic. Stopped thrashing. Let go. Let himself go so that he could resurface and take a breath and help himself. The voice was concerned. Someone was here, they were concerned, they would help. Cullen held on to that voice and drifted up, letting go of the panic in his mind, relaxing the screaming muscles in his body.

 

The shadowed figure spoke again as Cullen’s vision sharpened.  
“And if you hurt yourself, I won’t have nearly as much fun hurting you.”


	2. Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen realizes he's in a dungeon, but doesn't know where or why.   
> Someone is in the cell with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to check the tags before reading to make sure you know what's going on here.

“And if you hurt yourself, I won’t have nearly as much fun hurting you.”

 

...

  
  
  


Cullen gritted his teeth and winced as every breath was interrupted by a pain he suspected was a perforated lung. It pierced very time he tried to breathe deeply. Each shallow breath barely kept away the black frame that pressed against the edges of his eyes.

 

The figure that stepped out of the shadows was difficult to focus on. Cullen could see a face but took no note of their features. All he knew is that his chest felt tight, his abdomen blared like it was torn open. Everything hurt. 

 

He couldn't breathe. 

So much pain. 

Can't breathe. 

Pain...pain....pain...

 

It was overwhelming. But the panic was subsiding. Had minutes passed? Hours? It mattered not. 

  
  


A cool, prickling sensation made Cullen's hair stand on end. 

  
  


_ Magic _ , he thought idly. Even on the ledge of unconsciousness, his Templar-trained mind pushed everything aside to acknowledge the use of magic in his presence. 

 

A familiar sensation brushed against Cullen’s skin, cold yet warming. Odd yet comforting. A warm amber glow worked its way up and down his body, rhythmically pulsating, up and down it slowly traveled between his head to his feet. The strange warmth made Cullen want to recoil, but also alleviated the pain that preoccupied his muddled thoughts. 

 

Soon, he relaxed. Relief. His skull throbbed no longer. The piercing from the center of his chest to his midsection dissipated. Desperate for air, Cullen drew in a loud gasp, sputtered, breathed deeply again. His heart beat furiously as though awoken with alarm and for a brief moment, Cullen gave no thought to his current situation. Eyes closed, he focused on his breath. 

 

In. 

Out. 

Deep. 

Relief. 

  
  


A sudden awareness came - gripping him tightly were shackles at each wrist and ankle. Eyes slowly opened with caution. 

 

Cullen’s gaze was met with dark eyes looking down at him. A woman around his age. A mage. Chest still heaving, Cullen wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak. His attempt came out in a sigh. “Thank you,” he said to her. To the Maker. To anyone who was listening. “Thank you.”

 

“Feel better?” she asked. 

 

“Yes,” he sighed again.

 

“I’m going to release you from here. You won’t hurt me?” The mage looked concerned. She knew what he was, just as he knew what she was. 

 

“No, Maker. Of course not,” he sighed again. A recent memory caused him alarm. “But be careful. There was...someone else here. I-I think? I thought I heard someone say….something.” Cullen wasn’t sure if that was a true memory or not. Had he heard someone speaking of harming him? He knew sometimes people hallucinated as they lost consciousness. He wasn’t sure. 

 

_ One thing at a time _ , he told himself as he struggled to make sense of his situation. 

The mage used a strength spell to tear the metal that held him down. It hurt him in the process, but at least the damned things were off. The mage suppressed a smile. Proud that the spell succeeded, he guessed. It was an expression he saw often on the faces of new apprentices. 

 

Cullen sat up slowly, wary of any surprise twitches of pain waiting to release. Nothing. A slight soreness on his back, only.  He examined the very hard, very cold slab he had been held down on. It was made of greystone. A bright, fresh pool of blood dribbled down the side of the stone. Cullen pressed his hands to where echoing memories of the pain throbbed lightly. Blood was beginning to dry on his skin. 

 

It was then Cullen realized he was in nothing but his smallclothes. 

 

“You were stabbed, but the cut was shallow. I’m not sure I would have been able to heal the wound had it been any deeper,” the mage said. “I managed to stop the bleeding quickly,” she added.

 

Cullen silently thanked the Maker that he was too preoccupied with the aftereffects of losing blood and nearly losing consciousness to react to the fact that he was nearly naked in front of a strange woman. 

 

“What happened?” he asked, eyes sweeping around the room. Stone floor, stone walls, stone slab. No windows. A door reinforced with a metal, cage-like gate. A dungeon, of course.  

 

“I was not there to see,” the mage answered. “And you hit your head pretty hard. So, it may take some time for you to recall.” 

 

Other than the candles and a few scraps of bloodied fabric, the room was bare. The mage was also covered in blood.

 

“My armor?”

 

The mage shrugged.

 

“Well, no matter. Let’s go,” he stood up. The floor tilted from beneath him and the room began to spin. The mage placed one hand on Cullen’s chest and the other on his shoulder and guided  him back down on the icy slab. 

 

“No,” she said firmly.

 

His acuity was slowly returning. A swarm of questions buzzed through his head. He was desperate to understand, but was having trouble discerning the relevant questions from the - at the moment - less important ones. 

 

“Right, I need to give myself a moment. How much time do we have?” he asked, pressing his fingers to his eyes.

 

“No rush,” the mage said coolly. “Take your time.”

 

Everything within Cullen foolishly screamed to ram through the door, find an improvised weapon, and get away. He was wise enough to know better. That kind of action would only lead him to tripping on his own vertigo and falling on his face. Guaranteed. Though adrenaline pushed itself through every inch of his body, there was a slight comfort in knowing he was not alone. While it took Cullen no effort to question and be wary of this comfort he felt, he also saw himself in no position to provoke conflict with the mage. Nor did he have the energy.

 

To be honest though, beyond the fear was genuine gratitude. The fresh memory of the pain Cullen endured made him shudder. He was no stranger to pain, and he had always endured, but without the help of Lyrium to gently sugar-coat his experiences….

 

He swallowed hard, allowing his thoughts to remain in the background. 

  
  
  


Cullen looked up to the mage again. Her dark eyes were wide with curiosity. Her golden hair was in disarray and partially covered in crusting blood at the tips. The door was shut and presumably locked. Was she also a prisoner here? Was she some kind of dungeon prisoner caretaker? 

 

_ Maybe not _ , he decided. She didn’t look the type, but that didn’t mean anything.

 

She  _ had  _ helped him. There was no arguing with that. Was there?

 

A recognizable paranoia awoke within Cullen, twisting his gut. He fought it off, reminding himself that he wasn’t  _ that _ kind of person any more. He wasn’t a Templar any more. He’d gotten past his traumas and had learned to trust again.  He assumed the best in mages - in all people - until they gave him a reason to drop that trust. 

  
  


She could have left him to die.

  
  


He managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” he said again. “You did not have to help me, yet you did. 

 

The mage did not return the smile, but her voice was gentle. “Everything will be right soon,” she said with confidence. 


	3. Confusion

“Where did you find me?” Cullen asked.

The mage gave Cullen a curious look and gestured widely. “In...here?” 

The initial relief Cullen felt from his pain was now replaced with a haze. It was like he was trying to reach through a dense fog. He recognized this, and knew that it was probably because he’d hit his head too hard. “Sorry, right. Of course. I’m….my thoughts are confused.”

The mage nodded but said nothing and leaned back against the stone wall, watching Cullen carefully. 

“What happened? No...wait, I already asked that, augh.” Cullen ran his fingers through his damp, tangled hair and held his head. He took a few more breaths and tried to piece together what had happened.

“I don’t know what happened before you were dragged in here. They brought you in here, all bloody, and chained you to the slab. That was three days ago. No one has been back since, and I was afraid to heal you at first. I didn’t want to risk them coming back and finding out. But….there was a lot of commotion out there. I think they’re dead. Either that or they left us all here to die.”

Three days? Cullen still felt the adrenaline within him but it, along with his heart rate, was beginning to decrease. If what the mage said were true, and there there would be a better shot of breaking out of the cell. It seemed unlikely, but what choice did he have?

“Who are they? Do you know?” Cullen hoped he’d be able to retain all the information he was trying to gather. 

There was an odd expression on her face. “I’m not sure. There was a mage and a qunari and...others.”

“And how long have you been in here, Miss?”

She hesitated before speaking. “A week.”

A sudden discomfort came to Cullen’s attention and he looked around the room. “Is there water?”

The mage was by Cullen’s side with a tin mug. “Not much, but it’s all yours.”

“Are you sure?” Cullen sat up straighter and looked into the mage’s eyes but didn’t take the mug. “You haven’t had water in three days.”

This gave her pause again and she held the mug out further toward him. Her fingers gripped the sides of the mug in awkward, unnatural angles, Cullen noticed. But he said nothing of it and gave her a small, grateful smile as she placed the mug in his hands. He wanted to throw his head back and drink all the water at once, but he knew better. He took small sips and spaced them out between minutes. Though the tin mug wasn’t full, it did have a good amount of water in it and Cullen felt the difference in his thirst. 

“Thank you, again. Miss...uh...did I ask your name already? I seem to be stuck on repetition,” he placed the cup down and rubbed the back of his head. 

“We did have that conversation already, but that’s all right. I am Brynn,” she said. “And you are Ser Cullen.”

“Just Cullen,” he insisted. 

Brynn tilted her head slightly. “But you’re a templar. You introduced yourself as such.”

Cullen frowned. “Did I?” Why would I say that? He shook the thought away and said, “Well, Brynn. I am going to be quite honest with you. As you can see, I am not at my best and I feel like I got rammed in the head by a charging druffalo, and I haven’t anything to wear, but I am going to get us out of here.”

The words sounded wrong as he said them, but Cullen continued. “You were able to take the shackles off of me with a spell. Can you use anything like that on the door?”

Brynn shrugged and was about to say something when the sounds of falling boulders came crashing down from somewhere on the other side of the door. The walls shook and though Cullen should have been concerned that the walls would collapse, the thought did not occur to him. Brynn crouched down in the corner of the cell, hands over her head, and Cullen found himself standing in a defensive position between her and the door. He listened, waited, but nothing else happened. He looked back to Brynn who stood slowly without the aid of Cullen’s outreached hand. 

“You’re well enough to stand,” she noted. 

Cullen felt strong on his feet, much to his surprise. He’d expected to have needed a few hours, at the very least, to recover from the blood loss. Something about that also felt wrong. It all felt wrong, but Cullen couldn’t figure out why. 

“Are you still confused?” Brynn asked. 

“A bit,” Cullen admitted. “But I’ll figure it out once we get out of here. And possibly figure out what on earth that noise was. It sounded like...a...uh…” Cullen stopped, stuck on finding the word he could envision but couldn’t say. 

“Earthquake?” Brynn offered. 

Was that the word? Cullen wasn’t sure. “Maybe. Whatever it was….” Cullen said quietly, examining the heavy, reinforced door that kept the cell shut, “it opened this door.” The door creaked loudly as Cullen pushed it into the stone hallway of the dungeon. 

He looked to Brynn who didn’t look relieved. Cullen didn’t feel relieved either. Though his thoughts were too muddled to pick through, Cullen decided that this was too convenient. He didn’t know why. But, again, what choice did he have? Stay in the cell? Not an option. 

Cullen turned to Brynn. “I haven’t any weapons. If anyone comes at us, will you be able to cast spells at them?”

“Would that be acceptable, Ser Cullen?” Cullen winced at the title. “Yes, of course,” he said gently, and gestured her to follow him out of the cell.


	4. Tangled

Cullen stepped out of the cell and looked up and down the hall. On the left was a pile of stone that looked like was what caused the alarming sound and tremor moments ago. Dust spiraled wildly in the beam of light that shone through the ceiling. Cullen walked over to the wreckage of stone and looked up toward the narrow hole. The ceiling had fallen in, but whatever was above the dungeon had also collapsed, blocking what could have been an exit. He listened for a long time for a sound, any sound at all, but there was nothing. 

 

He stepped back and made his way back to Brynn, who stood patiently by the cell door. 

“You look as though you’re trying to solve a puzzle,” she said as her crooked fingers picked at the dry blood in her hair. 

 

Cullen frowned. “I can’t tell if the collapse occurred naturally or by magic. Nor can I explain how it managed to open the door. Was the door already opened?” 

 

Brynn placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling Cullen’s attention to her. “It was locked. And what does it matter? We can get out of here!” Her smile was soft, genuine. 

 

Cullen couldn’t help but offer a tiny smile in return.

 

The two followed the long hallway, all full of rooms that were locked, but not a single one that had signs of life. Cullen knocked on every door and peeked through every hatch where food and water was tossed in through. Nothing. Not a soul was here. 

 

They made it to the end of the hall and down a set of stairs to another door. This one was not as heavy as the cell doors, but it was still well made and solid. Brynn pressed her ear against it and listened. Cullen did the same. 

 

The two looked at each other and nodded, silently agreeing that Brynn would ready a spell as Cullen pulled the door open. 

 

He felt the movement of energy swirling around her, though when he looked she was just standing in a defensive pose. He could sense that her mana was at about 90%, and it struck him as odd that he could sense her as strongly as he could when he was on Lyrium. When he’d stopped taking it his Templar abilities had begun to wan. They hadn’t completely gone away, and he wasn’t entirely sure if they ever would, but there was a significant difference in the strength of what he was able to pick up. When the Inquisitor returned to Skyhold, exhausted and recovering from injury, Cullen would have to focus to evaluate her. Without the lyrium, it was like a faint pulse. He could almost hear it but it was far away. On lyrium he could have his back turned to her upon and been standing across the room and know that her mana was low, and specifically at what level of severity. And that precisely seemed to be how acutely he could sense Brynn at the moment. The thought stopped him in his tracks. Then it was gone. 

 

“I don’t think there’s anyone there,” Brynn said, peeking over Cullen’s shoulder. 

 

Cullen stood still, both hands holding the door open, but he didn’t move.  _ What was I just thinking about? _

 

“Do you hear something?” Brynn asked nervously.

 

“No...I’m...just trying to think…” Cullen shook his head, but the thoughts remained tangled. 

 

“Here,” Brynn gently pressed her palm against his back and guided him by the elbow. “As soon as we’re out of here we’ll get you a proper healer. Maybe some food, too. I’m so very hungry. And thirsty. I’m sure you are too.”

 

Cullen looked to Brynn. A sense of dread overcame him again. “Shouldn’t we be finding a way up? We’re heading deeper down into the dungeon. There won’t be a way out there.” 

 

“Ser Cullen...the way up was blocked, remember? There may be a way out from down there, but if not we’ll just retrace our steps.”

 

It didn’t sound right, but Cullen nodded and numbly allowed Brynn to lead him through the doorway, down a narrow set of stairs, into another abandoned hall, this one with fewer rooms, all of which were completely empty. There was a holding cell here. Empty. There wasn’t any furniture or abandoned papers or anything. There were only torches casting shadows on the stone walls. Why was he brought to this this place and then deserted? 

  
  


Cullen remembered he wasn’t alone (how had he forgotten?) and turned to ask Brynn why and how she was brought here...that was a question he needed to ask, he remembered suddenly. It was important. But he wasn’t sure why. He opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by a jolt and the image of Inquisitor Lavellan slashing her palm with a blade and letting the blood flow to her elbow as she held her hands up, readying a spell. 

 

_ Lavellan?! NO!! _

 

“Ser Cullen? Are you all right?” Brynn held on to his arm, her oddly bent fingers pressed into his skin. Cullen realized he was doubled over, trembling, drawing in shallow, ragged breaths.  

 

Cullen’s eyes searched wildly around. It was just him and Brynn, in the torchlit hall. “What was that?!” he gasped between breaths.

 

Brynn looked around pointedly. “I didn’t hear anything…” she said, pulling him up to stand straight. “What did you hear?”

 

It could not have been real. It wasn’t.

 

Was it? 

 

“I fear I am hallucinating,” Cullen finally said. 

“You saw something here?” Brynn looked around. 

 

“No, not here. In my mind. But….it didn’t….I mean it couldn’t have….”

 

“A memory?” Brynn offered. 

 

“What?”

 

“Maybe it was a memory. Did you remember something?”

 

“Maker, I hope not.” he muttered. “She would never…” 

 

Brynn cast a curious glance at him but said nothing. The two reached another doorway which lead down another set of stairs. Something in Cullen kept telling him to run. It was the same sense of urgency he felt when he first awoke in the cell. However, all he did was allow Brynn to lead him deeper into the cold stone dungeon. 

 

He’d somehow managed to hold on to the question he wanted to ask Brynn. “Why are you here? I mean, you don’t have to tell me why. But where were you when you were captured? You said a mage and a qunari brought you in?” All of the questions came out in a jumble, which was uncharacteristic of him but Cullen feared he’d once again forget to ask them. 

 

Brynn was quiet as they walked slowly down the echoing hall. “Would you believe me if I said I was wrongly accused of the misuse of magic?” Her voice was cold. 

 

“Yes,” Cullen said without hesitation, and Brynn couldn’t conceal her surprise. “I am sorry to hear that. It...unfortunately happens often…” he trailed off as they approached a large room with blood stained floors. 

 

Cullen pulled away from Brynn. “Shouldn’t we be going up? Not down….” Did she explain why they were going in this direction? A growing exhaustion came over Cullen as he fought to attain clarity. 

 

Brynn ignored his last question. “I stumbled across an odd group of mages accompanied by some non-magical people. A qunari with large horns was one of them. Another was a dwarf with a crossbow. They were performing some kind of blood ritual. Templars happened to be close by and came swiftly...and I quickly learned that they were working with the blood mages. They were members of something called an Inquisition...or  _ The _ Inquisition. They said that I could either join this Inquisition or face the consequences.” 

 

Brynn had let go of Cullen’s arm, her crooked fingers bent into fists at her side. Why was he so fixated on her fingers? Cullen blinked in the dim light as he stared. 

 

“Have you heard of the Inquisition?” Brynn asked quietly.

 

Cullen shook his head slowly, though he wasn’t sure. “Then what happened?” he asked.

 

“I cooperated,” Brynn continued, “but they wouldn’t let me leave in peace.  And they brought me here.” 

 

Cullen’s brow furrowed. Something familiar. “Did you say a dwarf with a crossbow?”

 

Brynn nodded.

 

“No,” he shook his head.  _ Wrong, wrong, wrong, _ something inside of him kept screaming. Thoughts, questions, and memories competed to claw their way to the surface of his mind. He was pulled into another direction. “Wait a minute. The Templars? But….the Order….”

 

“Ser Cullen, the Order still stands. With the Inquisition. A collection of blood mages and their allies. But they are not the true Order. The Red Templars are working tirelessly to restore what the Order once stood for. Have you forgotten?”


End file.
